


Transcendence of Time

by Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A.U, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Gore, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Regret, Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood/pseuds/Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood
Summary: Not once, in all their years together, had Corvus ever regretted meeting Proxima Midnight.Until now.  After all,  had they never met, maybe, just maybe, she would have lived.
Relationships: Corvus Glaive/Proxima Midnight
Kudos: 8





	1. COLLISION

**Author's Note:**

> This three part fic was born from my total lack of self control, my love of my otp and watching hing the anime Clannad - After Story, a dozen times too many 
> 
> /spoiler warning for Clannad After Story ep 22/

Proxima Midnight engaged Dr. Strange in combat, blasting away the illusions he created with her spear, the Cloak of Levitation in the process of trying to force Corvus Glaive into submission by wrapping itself around his neck and restraining his wrist to keep him from using his multi-bladed weapon.

Taking a gamble, Proxima turned with a yell, taking her eyes from Strange while he was momentarily distract, she gave a throaty yell and Corvus ducked, narrowly missing the glowing points of his wifes’ spear, she’d thrown it knowing full well he would be able to move in time, the Cloak of Levitation however was not as lucky, the three pronged spear became embedded in the opposite wall, pinning the cloak in place, leaving it fluttering and writhing uselessly against the wall. Proxima dodged an attack from her Terran opponent and Corvus, now free of the Cloaks grasp, leapt to wifes side and together they approached the Stone-keeper.

The couple circled him like predators closing in on their prey before pouncing in a flurry of brutal attacks, Corvus using steel claws of his gloves, Proxima with punches and kicks, leaving her spear embedded in the wall, keeping the Cloak of Levitation out of their way. The blade of Corvus’ namesake weapon, capable of ripping through atoms, was easily able to cut the chain that held the casing that protected the Time Stone from Dr. Stranges neck. Corvus snatched the object from the air while Proxima leapt at Strange, adrenaline pulsing in her veins as she threw herself in for another brawl.

Allowing his wife her well-deserved fun, Corvus inspected the casing that held the stone, crackling green energy rippled over where the pad of the generals’ thumb traced a line over the centre curiously, testing the protective magic that shielded the stone within. Corvus turned, triumphantly holding the time stone in his clawed hand; he expected to see Proxima, equally triumphant, standing over their opponent. He did not.

Instead he saw the Stone Keeper gesture with both hands and send a spiral of pliable yellow/orange energy in Proximas’ direction, cleaving her body in two, her mid-section separated from her lower half with a sickening wet thud, and just like that, she was gone…her remains lying in a growing pool of her own cerulean blood.

No longer would she fight her husbands’ side, or share his bed at night, nor would she be there to revel in glory of their masters’ triumph when the Time Stone was presented to him. Seeing her body collapse to the ground, Corvus Glaives’ vision became fringed in red as rage filled every cell in his body, he ran at the at the Stone Keeper with a feral ferocity that Strange himself was not expecting, Corvus’ predatory instincts created a tunnel-vision effect with the mystical Terran as his sole target.

The Terran went on the defensive, creating shields and illusions of mirrored crystal plates to confuse his opponent, but Corvus swung his namesake weapon, shattering the illusions and shields with ease. The human had taken down Proxima Midnight, one of Thanos’ strongest, fiercest warriors as though she were nothing. 

Beneath the anger, the bloodlust that drove Corvus to avenge his wife, pain like no other flooded his system. He wanted to howl in anguish as their victims had, in the way he had once sneered at when he and his beloved ripped apart entire civilizations in service to their master, or occasion, in service to their own learned malice and developed sadism in a world that despised them, apparently since their own respective conceptions and saw them fit only for cruelty, loss and fear until they knew nothing else, no other way of surviving than to hunt or be hunted. 

He’d considered it: the idea that one of them had to die first, of course he had, due to the nature of their lifestyle there was no way he could not, and Proxima was no different. 

But they were prepared for death, prepared for their inevitable final separation, at least…that was what they always told each other, in conversation whispered to each other in rare moments of vulnerability, away from the suspicious eyes and prying ears of their ‘Siblings’ and Master, they were well aware that, despite their past triumphs, their absolute faith in their own abilities and skills as Generals of Thanos, there was always that possibility that every day, every battle could be their last. 

The Children of Thanos were all terrible liars.

Even during their private conversation of these matters, Corvus had never fully accepted that she may leave him first, keeping the notion in the far reaches of his subconscious his strategic mind tucking away each and every possibility, of any outcome and every action and yet he’d never allowed himself to feel the bleakness that engulfed him now, his will to fight faltered but he continued to dodge and swing his weapon at the Stone Keeper.

Was it possible, he wondered distantly, to feel as though half your soul were missing even when you no longer believed you had one?

Corvus leapt back in order to put distance between himself and Dr Strange, the General then launched his glaive at his wifes’ killer, only for Dr. Strange to turn, just in time, gesture with his hands and in a swirl of orange energy, the glaive disappeared from sight as a final, unwanted thought crossed Corvus’ mind.  


Was it possible that, had they never met, she would still be alive?

As that notion made it known, Corvus felt a hard impact against his spine, had he not known better he might have assumed he’d been punched by his larger, more muscular brother. Looking down, Corvus found the blade of his glaive protruding from his abdomen, his own black, oil-like blood seeping through the durable material of his battle suit.  
Perhaps they never should have met.

With more willingness than he’d ever displayed, he allowed Death to claim him, not seeing the Time Stone glowing in his closed fist, streaks of green light streaming through the lines of his fingers.

When he was alive, Corvus recalled how Cull Obsidian, his only sibling by blood, despite his brutish appearance and outward portrayal of a half-minded beast with no intent of thought but to fight and destroy, often read, to excess Proxima used to say, since her brother by law read for pleasure not just out of necessity as she did. Long before being taken into Thanos’ forces, while Corvus would pour over strategic scrolls, journals of the Universes’ greatest war-lords, books on weaponry and strategy, Obsidian would hunch over texts describing ancient races, traditions, poetry even! 

Corvus had scoffed and jested when his brother had first described a bizarre concept unheard of to the brothers, while Cull put little faith in the validity of such a concept, was perhaps more open-minded than his older brother.

Soulmates: The notion that the other half of you, by the enablement of some omnipotent deity the person you were destined to have by your side no matter the circumstances, no matter the nature of separation between physical bodies, the bases of the universe one originated from, that person was meant to be yours, and you to be theres in return.

Corvus had written it off as childish, romanticised nonsense that served no place in their vast array of shared knowledge, and later on, even upon joining Thanos and the Cause, Corvus knew his brothers strange fascination for the galaxy’s’ poets failed to diminish, but the brothers were older by then, wiser, and more careful to hide away, within themselves anything that could be misconstrued as weakness, of mind, of body or heart, to outsiders, to any one that wasn’t them.

Then Corvus found Proxima, and slowly, reluctantly, he came to consider that…maybe, just maybe, Culls’ old books held some facet of truth after all.

What were the chances that she, of all creatures in the universe and beyond, would be the one to step into the fighting pit on Sakkaar, competing for the title of Champion, on the day Thanos had requested Corvus’ presence at his side in the Grandmasters spectator box at the last minute? What were the chances that Proxima would WIN her coveted role as Champion that day, thus gaining Thanos’ attention, and leading the Titan to send Corvus to find her in the cells later that day?

And what were the chances that two years of fucking each other senseless whenever they pleased would lead to so much more?  
Corvus had never considered death occurring by the simple finality of being separated from her, like the pathetic wretches in his brother’s books he had mocked and sneered at. Not once in all their years together did he ever regret it…Until now. 

Had he never developed such intense feelings for the fearsome Proxima Midnight, they’d never have married, never have been paired together for this particular mission, she might have lived and he wouldn’t be feeling this gut-wrenching rage and bone-deep sorrow he had seen in many victims: in the eyes of a parent as their children torn from their mothers breast, lovers ripped from each-others’ arms leaving only one left alive.

Corvus Glaive had died countless times, the regenerative abilities of his glaive never failing to bring him back from the brink of true death but it had never been like this. Normally there was only darkness, unending, bone chilling darkness and silence until the glaive did its job and brought him back to the land of the living. This time there was darkness along with the sensation of falling, oddly combined with being pulled as some imperceptible force guided the direction of his descent.


	2. Desolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvus finds himself in a place of startling familiarity, if he had the chance to do things over again, would he still have made the same choices or taken an entirely different path?

Corvus felt the sharp impact of solid ground, the force of the landing was enough to knock he air from his lungs for several moments. The irony that there was no longer air to knock from him was not lost on Corvus as he recovered and got to his feet, this was certainly not what he had expected of True Death, but then, exactly what he had been expecting he could not say, his faith in the severed Gods was surface level at best, a belief instilled from a young age that had been shaken and then all but shredded as an adolescent, and then scrutinised and mocked as an adult.

Corvus found himself standing in a large corridor; surrounded by stone walls, for some reason Corvus felt a strange familiarity with this place, one he couldn’t explain. He turned, hoping to familiarise himself with his location, behind him were lines criss crossing across the entrance to the corridor comprised of incandescent green light which he recognised as laser triggers; if the light was broken it activated an alarm and electrified current, they were most commonly used in prisons, or holding pens for livestock to prevent the occupant escaping.

Corvus turned to face the wall before him and froze, his spine shuddering with a sudden chill, like Death herself had just breathed down the nape of his neck, a door he could have sworn hadn’t been there several seconds ago stood in front of him.

He realized with startling abruptness that he knew this place, of course he did! The planet Sakkaar, more precisely, the holding cells beneath the fighting pits.

“Why…” he began to wonder out-loud

Yet the answer came to him in that same second.

“Proxima…”

Her name fell from his lips as a whisper, something forbidden, never to be spoken of again, if he stepped through those doors…would she be there? Unlike that fateful day so long ago, there are no guards standing either side the door this time, it would take nothing to step through those doors and find out.

Surely not…his Proxima was gone, severed in two by that bile-sucking Mystic! She was not immortal as he, Corvus was, there was no way she would be in there, and of course he knew this was nothing but a dream, a post-regenerative hallucination…And yet...what if she was, if there was that slight, fragile chance that he would be able to see her again…?

No

Corvus suddenly recalled her death, the way her lithe, strong body was ripped in two played out as clearly and horrifically as it had been upon his witnessing of it. He should never have found her, he should never have convinced Thanos that she was a suitable candidate for the Black Order, that she he was too young, too reckless, she hadn’t the experience to command his armies.

Yet in the few seconds it took for the memory to lurch to the forefront of his mind, with it came the compulsion to go to her, no matter how improbably the idea was, still there was that irresistible pull he felt whenever she was near but out of sight, that magnetic tug deep within which Corvus could no more resist it than he could defy gravity itself.

It was eerily familiar, even after so many years; the floors littered with pieces of stone, rubble, and Corvus was certain he’d seen a bloodied tooth lying a few feet away; he was surprised such a small detail was embedded in his mind. The walls are strewn with crude scribbles, some clearly meant to stave off boredom, others are of symbols of protection, most are simple markers intended to count down some poor souls’ days of imprisonment.

Corvus neared the curve of the circular cell, illusion to seem unending, if one continued walking, you would end up in exactly the same place no matter how long you walked for, as he stepped inside no other slaves scurried at Corvus’ feet to avoid his tread.

Just a few more steps, if Corvus remembered correctly, his footfalls unconsciously grew slower, as though he feared what he might find this time around. He couldn’t decide which would be worse, her presence or her absence. Still he forced himself to step through the door.

Had Corvus’ heart been pulsing it would have stopped dead in his chest: she was there, just as she had been when he’d laid eyes upon her for the first time.

With her back against the wall, head back with her eyes closed in exhaustion and her knees drawn up to her chest, exactly as she had been all that time ago. Corvus had almost forgotten how young she’d been back then, barely 18 cycles old with hair that had been badly cut upon her arrival at the cells so that it just reached her jawline, no scar lined her upper lip, no armour covered her left arm and opposing leg.

As much as she revelled in battle, used her developed sadism with as much glee as he wielded his own, Corvus thought of the pain she’d endured because of the everyday violence.

The scar on her upper lip, **his fault**

The burns that had left muscle and tissue in her arm and leg irreparable, **because of his mistake**

T _hey never should have met_

Had they never met, she would live, and he wouldn’t be forced to endure without her, he wanted to forget all of it, forget _her,_ what had it all been for in the end, if all it brought was this…this abhorrent emptiness in his chest that she had once filled in ways he’d never imagined possible.

Corvus turned to leave, he could feel the pull of the glaive as it repaired his physical body and he knew deep down, if he left now, like this, it would end and he would leave all memory of her, of their love behind.

He just had to leave without acknowledging her and all that she had meant to him.

But before he could take another step back to the door, more unsolicited yet more pleasant memories flooded his thoughts:

Watching Proxima in the sparring pit from one of the higher levels, using her signature spear to blast to hit the projectiles The Ebony Maw telekinetically launched in her direction, or in the training room practising her agility, interspersed with the acrobatics she would always strive to perfect.

The first time she’d taken him by the wrist, leading him to her chambers and allowed, encouraged him, to fuck her, before repaying him in kind.

The first time, over a year later, when he’d woken to find her still asleep at his side long after they’d collapsed in an exhausted, post sex tangle of limbs.

The first time he’d asked her to be his wife, sprawled on his back in the training rooms with Proxima straddling his torso with a triumphant grin. She’d accepted, yet he’d asked perhaps a dozen more times just to hear her say it again, ‘ _Yes’_ she would answer, with uncharacteristic patience and the same indulgent smile, each and every time.

The first time they’d made love after they’d married, not _fucked_ because after he’d asked her to be his not 9 months before, the term seemed misplaced.

Lastly, Corvus simply recalled the way her eyes glinted in the low light of their chambers when he entered after her, her expression, however emotionless, however stoic, would still soften a fraction with her body relaxing in the same diminutive manner, upon meeting his gaze.

Proxima

His Midnight star, how could he ever regret marrying her, finding her?

There it was again, that compulsion to go to her that had engrained itself into his very being, deeper than any emotion or instinct.

He wouldn’t trade that, any of it, nor could he disregard everything that she offered him in such abundance, in return. Even when the universe had all but destroyed her trust, her ability to feel for others, despite all of that, she had learnt to trust him, with everything she had…with her life. Just as he trusted her with his, as shown whenever he was injured or cut down in battle, it was she he entrusted his glaive, his link to the mortal world; she was the one to guard it, to keep it safe until his return.

Other than his brother no other individual even came close to having the trust of Corvus Glaive to such an extent, and he was about to throw that away, the times she’d put herself their enemies and her husband, or his glaive? The times she’d shared his bed, allowing him to touch her, to please her in ways she swore no other male in the Galaxy had ever been permitted to before? The times she eased him in times of stress with her level headed nature?

Corvus tore himself away from the door and turned back

“Proxima”

The single utterance of her name was low but clear in the otherwise empty cell. From her place against the wall, Proximas’ shoulders seemed to slump as if in relief, slowly turned her head, and to his amazement she opened her eyes and smiled up at him: in the rare way she saved only for him, her orange eyes bright against her darkened forehead. That meant not only was she there in front of him, but she could see him, hear him

“You found me”

Corvus felt a jarring pain in his chest upon hearing her voice when he’d believed he would never do so again

“Always”

That one word was the only answer he seemed able to form but was all that was needed, because Proxima got to her feet, with an unnecessary ease and lack of urgency in her movements even as she walked over to stand just inches from her husband, his lax jaw giving away his confusion and shock. Proximas’ smile became rueful, almost pained as she lifted an un-gloved hand to rest her palm to his warm cheek, her own grey-ish skin several shades lighter than his.

“You were going to leave me here…you turned away without saying a word. I was concerned, that you truly believed that it was best for us never to have met…”

There was no pretending that fear she’d felt hadn’t existed in those few seconds when she had expected him to turn and slam the door behind him, never to speak to her, never to love her.

It was true, there was no denying it, he had been ready to do just that. It made Corvus glare at the floor in shame in a way that even a disapproving stare from Thanos never brought out in him.

“I did, I was going to, yet I couldn’t!”

“Good” Proxima said firmly.

“Despite- no, maybe _because_ of everything I learned after Thanos chose me; I wouldn’t change or regret a single moment of it, and I don’t want you to either.” She added.

Corvus grasped the tops of her arms.

“I could never regret or wish that I’d never met you, my beautiful, fierce Midnight Star” he swore.

Even in this post-regenerative, dream-like state he could never be anything but entirely honest with her and admission was repaid by Proxima wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’d have died on Sakkaar eventually, probably only a couple of years later, had I not been taken by Thanos. Not only did I become the fiercest woman in the Galaxy, but I learnt to love you, I learnt to be loved in a way I never trusted I would be in my life. I wouldn’t change what we had for anything; you can’t either, no matter how things turn out in the end.”

Her emotion was clear in-spite of the steady tenor of her voice.

Helpless as he always was to her command, Corvus distantly felt that aching void in his chest, which she’d left upon her demise, begin to heal as he accepted her words, much like moss growing over the jagged edges of a gaping cavern, softening its points and closing the open wounds of cracks and fissures in the granite and stone.

Had they not been who they were, they might have each been crushed by their partners hold; instead the seemingly harsh embrace provided a familiarity they seemed to leech from each other as any mortal would take in oxygen after being denied it, almost to the brink of death.

Corvus nudged his forehead to her temple, barely missing the base of her horn.

“I’d give my life to the true death in an instant rather than live an eternity without knowing you, without loving you and having you do so in return.” he snarled at her ear possessively.

To forget, to have never met her, to have nothing left of her at all, even a single memory of her which would last as long his immortal life lasted, with no one, even Thanos himself, capable of taking that away, to have nothing left of her at all would be to kill her in every possible sense.


	3. Restoration

Corvus Glaive woke suddenly, as if from a deep sleep, still being choked by the Cloak of Levitation, the hand holding his glaive was restrained at his side, leaving Corvus with only one hand to attempt to claw the Cloak from his throat.

He heard the distant cry of Proxima Midnight as she threw her spear, skewering the enchanted object to the wall behind him as Dr. Strange recovered from a flurry of attacks.

Something told Corvus to move, to dart to her side so that they might attack together, only for something else, something far more urgent and clear told him stopped him, telling him to act differently. Instead of wasting the time it would have taken to reach her, Corvus threw his glaive, with deadly marksmanship it hit its intended target; piercing the Terrans chest, ripping through tissue, bone and the pulsing vital organ that gave him life, the ripples of yellow/orange energy that Dr. Strange had prepared to form and send spiralling into his attackers abdomen died out as he took his final breath.  
Dr. Strange collapsed to the ground, dead.

Proxima grabbed the chain from his neck, watching with sudden, eerily innocent curiosity at the casing that held one of their masters coveted Infinity Stones. It took Corvus just a few seconds to move to her side, ripping his glaive from Dr. Stranges’ body, which jolted at the force of having the blade was removed so sharply. With a cold expression, and a single slash of his glaive, Corvus removed the Terrans head for good measure.

Quick, clean and efficient, and not what Proxima had been intending, with the Time Stone shimmering within its protective casing in her hand, she turned to Corvus with disappointment.  
“You grow dull in your age my love, I was going to enjoy toying with him for a while!” she stated, making her dissatisfaction with such a short fight indisputable.  
For once, Corvus didn’t much care about her displeasure.

“I take no chances with your life, My Midnight. Come, Thanos will be awaiting us on Titan by now.” 

Had he not acted as he had done, she would not be stood there now to glower at him for her stolen entertainment. The icy chill of her ire was a price he could bear, losing her to Deaths far colder grip, was not.

Corvus stepped around the corpse, glaive in hand, moving silently between two large piles of rubble intending to walk to the exit in order to be beamed back aboard their waiting Q ship. Proxima, with her eyes fixed on his retreating form, wordlessly recalled her spear to her hand. 

She recognised his tone, at least she thought she did, Proxima could have sworn there was something off about her husbands’ words, yet with a slight shrug to herself, deciding not press her irritation any-more and moved to follow, as she would all her life and beyond if he allowed her to.

Upon catching up to Corvus a second later, Proxima offered him a curious look, holding her spear over her shoulder like a bat or a club over her shoulder. He finally glanced at her from under the shadow of his hood, the pair shared a nod and her features softened entwining her fingers with his, a simple gesture of forgiveness on her part: she couldn’t have her anger towards him remain for very long. 

The pair continued walking with the Time Stone held in their joined hands, a soft green glow stifled by the hands that held it, radiating and fading softly within the creases in their fingers.


End file.
